The wind puffed the third one out just as it was on the imminent verge of success.We gathered together closer than ever, and developed a solicitude that was rapt and painful, as Mr.Ballou scratched our last hope on his leg.It lit, burned blue and sickly, and then budded into a robust flame.Shading it with his hands, the old gentleman bent gradually down and every heart went with him--everybody, too, for that matter--and blood and breath stood still.The flame touched the sticks at last, took gradual hold upon them--hesitated--took a stronger hold--hesitated again--held its breath five heart-breaking seconds, then gave a sort of human gasp and went out.
Nobody said a word for several minutes.It was a solemn sort of silence;even the wind put on a stealthy, sinister quiet, and made no more noise than the falling flakes of snow.Finally a sad-voiced conversation began, and it was soon apparent that in each of our hearts lay the conviction that this was our last night with the living.I had so hoped that I was the only one who felt so.When the others calmly acknowledged their conviction, it sounded like the summons itself.Ollendorff said:
"Brothers, let us die together.And let us go without one hard feeling towards each other.Let us forget and forgive bygones.I know that you have felt hard towards me for turning over the canoe, and for knowing too much and leading you round and round in the snow--but I meant well;forgive me.I acknowledge freely that I have had hard feelings against Mr.Ballou for abusing me and calling me a logarythm, which is a thing Ido not know what, but no doubt a thing considered disgraceful and unbecoming in America, and it has scarcely been out of my mind and has hurt me a great deal--but let it go; I forgive Mr.Ballou with all my heart, and--"Poor Ollendorff broke down and the tears came.He was not alone, for Iwas crying too, and so was Mr.Ballou.Ollendorff got his voice again and forgave me for things I had done and said.Then he got out his bottle of whisky and said that whether he lived or died he would never touch another drop.He said he had given up all hope of life, and although ill-prepared, was ready to submit humbly to his fate; that he wished he could be spared a little longer, not for any selfish reason, but to make a thorough reform in his character, and by devoting himself to helping the poor, nursing the sick, and pleading with the people to guard themselves against the evils of intemperance, make his life a beneficent example to the young, and lay it down at last with the precious reflection that it had not been lived in vain.He ended by saying that his reform should begin at this moment, even here in the presence of death, since no longer time was to be vouchsafed wherein to prosecute it to men's help and benefit--and with that he threw away the bottle of whisky.
Mr.Ballou made remarks of similar purport, and began the reform he could not live to continue, by throwing away the ancient pack of cards that had solaced our captivity during the flood and made it bearable.
He said he never gambled, but still was satisfied that the meddling with cards in any way was immoral and injurious, and no man could be wholly pure and blemishless without eschewing them."And therefore," continued he, "in doing this act I already feel more in sympathy with that spiritual saturnalia necessary to entire and obsolete reform." These rolling syllables touched him as no intelligible eloquence could have done, and the old man sobbed with a mournfulness not unmingled with satisfaction.
My own remarks were of the same tenor as those of my comrades, and I know that the feelings that prompted them were heartfelt and sincere.We were all sincere, and all deeply moved and earnest, for we were in the presence of death and without hope.I threw away my pipe, and in doing it felt that at last I was free of a hated vice and one that had ridden me like a tyrant all my days.While I yet talked, the thought of the good I might have done in the world and the still greater good I might now do, with these new incentives and higher and better aims to guide me if I could only be spared a few years longer, overcame me and the tears came again.We put our arms about each other's necks and awaited the warning drowsiness that precedes death by freezing.
It came stealing over us presently, and then we bade each other a last farewell.A delicious dreaminess wrought its web about my yielding senses, while the snow-flakes wove a winding sheet about my conquered body.Oblivion came.The battle of life was done.
